


Your Face Becomes Her

by LearnedFoot



Series: Doctor Who/MCU Crossovers [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adventures In Space, Crossover, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/F, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-20 22:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: That gets the woman’s attention. She opens her eyes, black wells that send a chill across Amy’s skin, like seeing beady doll’s eyes in her own face. With a groan, the woman staggers to her feet, clawing at the wall for balance.“Who are you?” she asks. Her voice is a surprise, low and rasping. Almost sensual, in an angry way.“Amy. Amy Pond.” Amy taps uselessly at the buttons. “And I’m trying to save your life. Any tips?”





	Your Face Becomes Her

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucymonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/gifts).



> These two. _These two_. What a delightful combination. I offered this pairing because I loved your prompts so much, so I was thrilled to match with you. I just hope this does them justice. 
> 
> As should become obvious, this is set between “Vincent and the Doctor” and “The Lodger,” which is to say, while Rory is erased from the universe. It is also post _Endgame_. Despite (or because of?) the setting, Amy/Rory is lurking in the background. And listen, if you want to read Nebula/Gamora between some of the lines, that’s not entirely unintentional, either. Or not, as your heart desires!
> 
> Title is something of a play on [Amy’s speech](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oi0VnsLqivY) from “The Girl Who Waited.”

Amy has seen a lot of strange things since she started traveling with the Doctor. Nightmare angels and vampire fish, skyscrapers in the stars, an artist she still mourns. But none of that prepared her for coming face-to-face with her doppelganger in blue, slumped in the corner of a cell, eyes closed, blood smeared across her forehead.

Okay, yes, the woman—if that’s what she is—doesn’t look _exactly_ like Amy. For one thing, there’s the part where yeah, she’s blue, and even as a kissogram Amy never went for full-body paint. For another, there’s metal everywhere, melded to her face in seams, an entire hand made of it. But under the sci-fi trappings she definitely has the same bone structure, the same round cheeks. Amy’s eyes trail downward. Same body, too, more or less. She would know, she’s spent a lot of time looking at it in the mirror.  

“Well,” she says to nobody, “this is weird.”

An alarm cuts through the silence, loud and high. The woman stirs and groans. Right. Emergency. They have about five minutes to get back to the TARDIS before the whole ship blows. The mystery of why she has a space twin can wait.

The woman is trapped behind a force field, but there’s a promising panel of buttons on the wall beside her cell. Amy starts pushing at them randomly. “Oi! You! Robot lady. Any idea how to get you out of there?”

That gets the woman’s attention. She opens her eyes, black wells that send a chill across Amy’s skin, like seeing beady doll’s eyes in her own face. With a groan, the woman staggers to her feet, clawing at the wall for balance. 

“Who are you?” she asks. Her voice is a surprise, low and rasping. Almost sensual, in an angry way.

“Amy. Amy Pond.” Amy taps uselessly at the buttons. “And I’m trying to save your life. Any tips?”

The woman approaches the edge of the cell, coming as close as she can without brushing the force field, which—as the Doctor demonstrated with a painful live performance earlier, in a different part of the ship—generates a nasty shock when touched. “9, 12, 7, 15, 33.”

Amy tries the combination; it works. Impressive. She’d ask how Blue Amy knew that, but, again: emergency. Run now, ask questions later. “We need to get out of here.”

“Why are you helping me?” The woman sags against the wall, eyes narrowing, distrustful. In her condition, five minutes to get to the TARDIS might be cutting it close.

“It’s kind of what we do, the Doctor and I. Help people in need,” Amy explains. When Blue Amy continues to stare without responding, she adds, “The Doctor is my friend. Who you’ll meet, if you come with me. Which you need to do _right now_.”

“The Doctor? Is that a joke?”

“You’ve heard of him?” Well, that makes things easier. Or maybe harder. Depends. “Not a joke. Actually my friend. Now come on.” Amy grabs for the woman’s arm, but she hisses and pulls out of reach.

“Why should I follow you?” As she’s saying it, the woman buckles, clutching her stomach. That feels like a pretty good answer to the question, but it doesn’t stop Blue Amy from continuing to glare when Amy wraps a helpful arm around her waist and tries to tug her in the direction of safety. Is this what Amy looks like when she’s being stubborn? She hopes so; it’s properly intimidating in a way that would make her proud if it weren’t so annoying at this exact moment.

“The ship’s about to blow up, I have a way off, and I’m not with the people who had you locked in that cell.” Amy adds her most charming smile. “Besides, don’t you trust this face?”

The doppelganger still looks displeased, but she nods, so Amy counts it as a win.

***

Blue Amy is not nearly as surprised as she should be when they finally get inside the TARDIS. She takes in the expansive interior and notes, without emotion, “So it’s true.”

“What’s true?” the Doctor asks, strolling in the front door as if he isn’t cutting their escape dangerously close. And as if his bow tie isn’t on fire. He casually pats the flame out as he saunters over to the control panel, where he flips a few switches. “Also, who are you, and what are you doing on my TARDIS?”

“Nebula,” the woman replies gruffly. It doesn’t look like she’s going to answer the rest of the question, so Amy jumps in to explain how she rescued her. It was the right thing to do, after all.

“Besides,” she adds under her breath, coming up behind the Doctor so only he can hear. “Look at her. How could I not?”

“How indeed,” he agrees, raising an eyebrow. He spins to face their new companion, pulling a lever as he does. “Ignore the loud noises, Nebula, it’s just the TARDIS’s way of telling us she’s saving our lives.” He flings his arms wide. “Welcome aboard. Any questions?”

He stands like that, looking a little silly, for several long seconds as Nebula runs her hand along the console. When she finally speaks, it’s not a response.

“I’ve heard the rumors. Legends. I did not think they were real.” Her voice is low, trembling with unmistakable anger. She looks up, dark eyes fixing on the Doctor. “Where were you, then?”

The Doctor’s smile falters, his arms drop. “Where was I when?”

She says just one word, “Thanos,” and he goes stiff and still, face frozen in a pained grimace. Silence stretches awkwardly, air thick with unspoken reprimands.

“He can’t be everywhere,” Amy jumps in, defensive. She’s not sure what this standoff is about, but she knows the Doctor, and whatever accusations are being thrown by Nebula’s glare can’t be fair. “If you know about him then you know he travels through time and space. All of it. There are a lot of people who need saving, a lot of disasters.”

“Not like this one.” Nebula’s eyes haven’t left the Doctor, and there’s murder in them. The worst part is, he seems to accept it, body going slack and defeated.

“You’re wrong,” Amy protests. “I’ve seen—”

“No, Amy, she’s right.” The Doctor’s tone—sad, endlessly sad—doesn’t allow for argument. He approaches Nebula, slowly. When they’re just an arm’s length apart, he says, softly, “I’m sorry you were alive for that. Thanos—what he did is a fixed point in time. One of the _most_ fixed points in time.” He glances over at Amy, anticipating her question. “I know I’ve said certain points are fixed, and they are, they all are. But some are extra fixed. The Big Kahunas, so immovable I can barely look at them. Thanos is top of the list.” He turns back to Nebula, eyes impossibly sad, even sadder than his voice. “The TARDIS won’t even get near those five years.”

She snorts, but her stance relaxes enough that it no longer looks like she’s about to try to rip his limbs from his body. “My father would have loved that. I guess he really was inevitable.”

“Your father—oh.” The Doctor pulls back just a little. Amy doesn’t think it would be obvious to most people, but she sees the tension that comes over him, shoulders squaring, throat clearing. “You’re a child of Thanos.”

“Once. I abandoned my father’s cause years ago.” The smile Nebula gives is humorless. “Still want me on your ship?”

“Of course.” The Doctor straightens his burnt bow tie. “Stay as long as you want. In fact, why don’t you go get cleaned up? We have showers, a wardrobe, first aid.” He gestures at the hallway. “The TARDIS will show you the way.”

***

Once Nebula’s out of earshot, the Doctor turns to Amy, worry blazing across his face.

“Was I wrong? Rescuing her. Was that a bad idea?” she asks immediately.

“It’s never wrong to help someone in need,” he assures her, hand briefly finding her wrist, squeezing it. “But it may have been a bad idea. I’m not sure yet.” He returns to the console and pulls down a screen, frowning as he types into it.

“So, this Thanos person. What’s the story there?” she prods, once it becomes clear he isn’t going to offer more information voluntarily.  

“He, uh, yes.” The Doctor looks up from the screen and in Amy’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet her eye. “He wiped out half the universe.”

“ _What_.” She can’t have heard that right.

“Half of all life, everywhere. Oh, don’t look at me like that, it gets undone. But it’s a bad five years. A very traumatic five years. A hole in space-time, untouchable. But it is fixed.”

“How?” For a moment, the mysterious blue woman is forgotten in favor of this new and horrifying bit of space-time trivia. Just when she was starting to think she understood how bad things can be.

“Sacrifice.” The Doctor slumps, voice gone wistful. “The life of a very brave, unsung heroine who put faith in her friends to finish the job. I’ve never met her, but it would be an honor.” He pauses. “And the life of a good man. Him I’ve met. Arrogant, self-satisfied. A little too sarcastic for my taste. But good, and brave, and willing to give his life when it mattered.”

“Arrogant and self-satisfied. Doctor, are you talking about yourself?” It’s meant to be a joke. Mostly.

“What? No. Not everything is—” He catches on that she’s smiling, and returns it, a quick flicker of expression that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, that was a joke. Very clever. Ha, ha. The point is, it’s not our problem. That’s not callous, it’s just fact. It’s someone else’s problem to fix, someone else’s sacrifice to make. Set in stone, out of reach. But our new hitchhiker could make it our problem. Or not! Maybe we’ve just made a very interesting new friend.”

“Explain.” They’ve spent all day dodging blasters and trying to solve a murder mystery on an alien spacecraft. Amy’s tolerance for cryptic Doctor nonsense is getting low.

“She’s either exactly who she says she is, in which case she is incredibly brave, probably rather traumatized, and definitely deserving of an all-expenses paid vacation. Or—” He stops, adjusting the bow tie again. He really is nervous, then.

“ _Or_?”

“Or she’s very evil, and knows about the TARDIS. Which would be bad.”

So it may have been a mistake, then, whatever the Doctor says. “Why? Why is that bad?”

“She _could_ want to carry out her father’s work. Another Thanos, with the TARDIS in her grasp.” The Doctor’s hands won’t stop moving, adjusting his jacket, fiddling with buttons. Suddenly, his face lights up, as if he’s decided to commit to something that popped into his head two seconds ago. Normally when he gets like this it’s not a very safe idea. “Well, there’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to keep her around.”

“Keep around the potentially murderous android? How does that help?”

“She’s a cyborg, not an android,” he corrects. “And it helps because we can keep an eye on her. Get to know her. Find out if we can trust her. Think about all the stories she could tell!”

He’s definitely fallen in love with this plan, rubbing his hands together as he contemplates the possibilities. Of course, it’s the Doctor. He probably thinks it would be more exciting if she _is_ murderous, even if he’d deny it.

“And if it turns out she’s evil?”

The Doctor shrugs. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, how about you go tell our guest she’s going to have a bit of an extended stay.”

“Why me?” Nebula hadn’t exactly seemed to warm to Amy, even when she was _rescuing_ her. Which, frankly, was a bit rude. “Are you just trying to make me do the awkward part?”

He’s gone back to hiding behind his screen, which Amy takes as a yes even as he waves her question off with, “Of course not! It’s just that no one likes to open up to silly old me.”

“Doctor, _everyone_ opens up to you. She already did. She could barely stand me.”

“Ah! Well then, it won’t matter if she’s mad at you.” Now he’s so focused on the screen it has to be intentional, a way of avoiding her eyes. “Besides, I think it would be nice for you to have a friend.”

Amy frowns. This isn’t the first time the Doctor has mentioned something like that recently, pushing her to chat with every alien they meet, hovering around, asking if she’s lonely. He didn’t used to do that. It worries her, as if he’s trying to hint he’s tired of her. And, when she lets her mind rest on it too long, it also reminds her that sometimes she _is_ lonely, desperately, as if she’s had something essential torn away. “What do I need a friend for? I have you.”

“Ah, but variety is the spice of life. Nobody should spend too much time with just me. It’s bad for the brain, makes you go a little kooky.”

“Sick of me already?” She tries to play it off as another joke, but the look the Doctor gives her in return is sincere.

“Never,” he promises. “Amelia Pond, how could I ever be sick of you? Just…trust me. I think having Nebula here will be good. Go talk to her.”

It doesn’t seem like it will be good at all, but Amy nods her assent. She does trust him, after all.

***

She finds Nebula in the small, sterile sick bay, seated on an examining table. Not that Nebula needs someone else to examine her; she seems to be doing just fine on her own, shirt hitched up, chin tucked, hands steady as she seals shut a wound running jagged across her stomach, using a medical device that flashes white-hot flame. Amy can’t hide her involuntary hiss at the sight, empathy for the pain ratcheted up seeing it on a body so like hers. She knows it doesn’t make logical sense, but she moves a hand to her own stomach to make sure she hasn’t spontaneously developed the same injury.

“You’re reading too much into a fluke of genetic drift,” Nebula says. She looks up, expression blank. “We are not connected.” 

“I wasn’t—” Amy cuts the protest short at Nebula’s scowl. “Okay, fine. It’s weird though, right?”

“It is a coincidence.” Nebula slides from the table, pulling her shirt down and standing tall. There’s an aggressiveness to her movements that makes Amy want to straighten her own spine. She walks like anger. “Thank you for your assistance. If you drop me at the nearest planet equipped for space travel, I can make my way from there.”

Okay, moment of truth. How exactly is she supposed to explain this? The Doctor didn’t give her any hints. Typical. “I’m sure the Doctor will be happy to do that, but we just have to make a little, itsy-bitsy stop first.”

Nebula’s eyes flash dangerously. “ _What_.”

“Emergency call,” Amy lies. “Just a quick hop to the future, then we can drop you off wherever you need.”

Suddenly, Nebula is stalking towards her. Every fiber in Amy’s body goes on high alert, but before she can react Nebula’s metal hand has wrapped around her forearm. Whatever she’s made of, she’s so much stronger than Amy, fingers digging into her skin until it pinches. “You must take me back! I was so close—” What she was so close to, she doesn’t say. Instead, she shakes Amy’s arm, a rough movement that pulls at her shoulder until she gasps in pain. “Is this because of my father? Are you kidnapping me?”

“What? No, the Doctor doesn’t _kidnap_ people—”

“Such devotion,” Nebula sneers. She tosses Amy’s arm and takes off down the hall, yelling for the Doctor. Amy watches her go, rubbing her shoulder, and decides not to follow for a bit. This is the Doctor’s idea, let him deal with it.

***

Besides, she’s sure the Doctor can smooth things over, and she’s right, of course. _Of course_. By the time she works up the nerve to venture back to the control room, the glowering cyborg, who is starting to feel less like a mirror version of herself and more like a rather unpleasant intruder in her home, is smiling.

“Ah, Amy!” the Doctor exclaims when he spots her, leaping to his feet. “Nebula has agreed to travel with us for a bit. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Amy hopes her narrowed eyes and pursed lips convey exactly how unamused she is by this entire situation. Especially the part where he made her deliver the bad news first when it’s perfectly obvious he was better at it.

“Amazing,” she agrees. “How thrilling.”

Nebula scowls at her from behind the Doctor’s back. Amy resists the urge to scowl back.  

***

The Doctor makes her give “their honored guest” the full tour of the TARDIS.

It doesn’t go well.

“So, I guess you’ve forgiven the Doctor for the Thanos thing?” Amy tries at the start.

All she gets in return is another scowl and a snappish, “Do not say his name.”

She experiments with not talking at all, but that feels awkward. “Do you like swimming?” she attempts when they reach the pool. Nebula just glowers, and that’s when she gives up. If Grumpy Blue Amy doesn’t want to be nice, then Real Amy will show her where the rooms are and leave her alone, no small talk needed.  

Yeah, great new friend, Doctor. Really, fantastic idea.

***

The emergency call was a lie, but that doesn’t stop their visit to what the Doctor claims is the universe’s most diverse food festival from taking a sharp left into disaster. They don’t even have time to grab a meal from any of the stands—which overflow with strange, bright fruits and mouth-watering roasting meats—before they find themselves running for their lives through the sewers of the sprawling city. The day turns into tracking down a shadowy cabal and thwarting their plan to poison the populace through the Universe’s Best Chili competition.

By the time it’s all over Amy has to admit Nebula’s useful in a tough situation. Nebula apparently does not feel the same way about her.

“You almost got us killed,” she accuses as they stroll through the stalls, finally picking out a meal because, as the Doctor put it, nothing works up an appetite like saving the day.

“I did not! If they hadn’t caught us when I sneezed, we never would have found their lair. Right, Doctor?”

The Doctor, absorbed in testing a large, neon-pink fruit shaped like a peanut for ripeness, just waves his hand vaguely. “You’re both right, I’m sure. No picking sides.”

That is completely unfair. The Doctor is supposed to pick sides. Her side. Because she’s right, and besides, he’s the Doctor. _Her_ Doctor. But he ignores her frustrated exclamation, instructing them to go explore.

“Play nice,” he insists, scampering off to chase down what he claims are the best pies this side of the ones your nan makes.  

“I’m not exploring with you,” Amy tells Nebula when he’s gone.

“Fine with me,” Nebula agrees. “I’ve spent enough time traveling with idiots.”

***

When she can’t sleep, Amy goes to the pool. She doesn’t like to swim, but there’s something comforting about drifting in the water, almost weightless. It’s a little like floating in space, a reminder of that magical moment when this was all brand new and only thrilling. Before she discovered that traveling with the Doctor came with fear and death and frightening loneliness. It’s worth it—of course it’s worth it—but sometimes she needs to recapture that effortless joy. Staring into the dark surrounded by nothing but the gentle sway of calm water almost does the trick.

She’s been doing it a lot lately. Keeps waking up with a hollow pain in her chest and a buzzing in the back of her mind like something’s missing. Probably the effect of all the time travel. She’s considered asking the Doctor about it, but she’s afraid he’ll say something’s wrong, that she has to go home. So she comes here instead.

Except tonight she’s not alone. The lights are on, low, but enough to ruin the effect of night, flooding the large room with a dim golden glow. Nebula’s in the expansive pool, cutting through the water with long clean strokes. She’s wearing one of those racing suits you usually see on Olympic athletes, tight black fabric covering down to her knees. It’s possible to make out the strong muscles in her non-robotic arm, the arching curve of her back. She has calves to die for.

Amy almost turns around, but this was her TARDIS first, her spot, and she’s not about to be scared away. 

She hitches up the robe she has on over her own suit and sits by the edge of the pool, dangling her legs into the water right where Nebula is headed. That gets her attention. She stops short and pops her head out, treading water in place, as if she doesn’t want to be any closer. Lovely.

“I didn’t know you could swim,” Amy starts conversationally, as if her heart isn’t beating too fast. She’s not sure what she’s scared of. Nebula may be mean, but Amy’s pretty sure she’s not dangerous, at least not in an immediate sense. If she wanted to attack her, she could’ve done it by now. “It doesn’t mess with your…?” She gestures at the metal arm, which reflects the dim light like sparkles. From here, it’s almost beautiful.

Nebula scoffs. “My father ripped my limbs from my body to make me _better_. Stronger. More deadly. That would not be very effective if it meant I could no longer swim.”  

Amy’s skin crawls at the revelation, fascinated revulsion broiling in her gut. “I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s genuine. “I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Of course she didn’t. Nebula’s been on the TARDIS for two weeks now, and as happy as she is to chat with the Doctor, she always stiffens when Amy walks in the room. “It’s not the kind of thing you ask someone who hates you. ‘Oh, sorry to interrupt your conversation, I know you can’t stand me, but by the way, why are you half metal?’”

Nebula swims closer, then flings her arms over the edge of the pool, sprinkling Amy with droplets. She cocks her head, dark eyes unreadable. “I don’t hate you.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you called me an idiot and never talk to me.”

“You do not know hatred if you think that is hate. It is only dislike.”

“Oh, well that’s okay, then.” Amy resist the urge to splash her, or maybe storm away. It’s time to set some boundaries. Her TARDIS, her rules. “You don’t get to dislike me.”

Nebula lets out a startling bark. Amy jolts, which is embarrassing when she realizes it was only a laugh. “I do not think you get to decide that.”

“Sure I do.” This time Amy does splash her; just a small flick of water at her shoulder. Nebula tenses at the movement, eyes following Amy’s gesture with unnerving focus. “One, I saved your life. Two, you’re a guest, you shouldn’t be rude. Three”—she shakes her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, pouting a little—“everyone likes me. I’m very likable.”

Nebula pulls herself out of the water and springs to standing. The suit clings to her body, distracting in how it highlights the ways she’s like Amy, and the ways she isn’t. More muscles, that’s for sure. Same breasts, though. She looks down at Amy, lips forming a hard line. “You saved my life from a mess you made. That ship never would have exploded if it weren’t for your interference.”

That’s true, but it’s not the whole story. Amy scrambles to her feet, feeling decidedly uncoordinated in comparison to Nebula’s fluid motions. Standing, they’re exactly the same height, eye-to-eye. “I saved you from jail.”

“One cage for another,” Nebula bites back. Amy’s surprised to realize she’s breathing heavily, the metal running under her eye moving in time with her heaving. It’s fascinating; Amy has to resist the urge to run her finger along it. That might literally get her hand broken. “You called me a guest. I am not a guest, I’m your prisoner.”

Oh. Amy had been under the impression Nebula had already worked this out with the Doctor. But if not…

“Why are you only mean to me? You get along with the Doctor.”

“ _He_ told me the truth. _You_ lied. You do whatever he says.”

“Do not!”

“Of course you do. You believe what he tells you, do whatever he asks. I see the way you look at him. Complete _faith_.” She spits it like a bad word.

“Well, what’s wrong with that?” Nebula’s lips curl into a disdainful sneer, but Amy pushes on. “I have faith in him because he’s _the Doctor_. He’s saved my life and the lives of so many others so many times. He’s my _friend_ , of course I trust him.”

“He’s not your friend. You worship him. The way you look at him—I know that look. It is never good.”

“I do _not_ worship him. You don’t know anything about us.” Nebula’s expression doesn’t change, stuck in a superior glare that makes Amy want to scream. Worship her raggedy man? Absurd. “Besides, that’s a big accusation coming from the woman who won’t stop flirting with him.”

For the first time, Amy seems to have caught Nebula off guard. She pulls back, expression morphing from disdainful to almost blank, eyebrows tugged in just enough to suggest she doesn’t follow. “What?”

“You heard me,” Amy pushes. She quirks her shoulders and thrusts her hips in an exaggerated imitation of Nebula’s casual stance, the comfortable looseness she only displays when talking to the Doctor, when she thinks Amy isn’t around. She lowers her voice, adding Marilyn Monroe breathiness. “Oh, Doctor, yes, what a wonderful idea. Oh, you’re so smart. Not like Amy, she’s an idiot, forget about her.”

“I do not sound like that.”

“Do too.”

Nebula blinks at her, face unchanging, and then bursts into what is unmistakably a chuckle. It boils over into laughter, deep and genuine. Amy finds herself standing awkwardly, feeling foolish, a little like a jealous schoolgirl.

“I apologize,” Nebula finally says, though a hint of amusement lingers in her voice. “I did not intend to ‘flirt.’ The Doctor is not…” She pauses, as if trying to find the right words. “My type.”

This is the second time tonight Nebula has revealed something personal about herself, and this time it’s an area Amy can actually work with. She pushes her embarrassment aside. “Not blue enough?”

“Not female enough.”

 _Oh_. Apparently not everything made it across the genetic drift, then. Not that Amy hasn’t thought about it occasionally. And there was that time with Kelly Donnelly, after prom—

Well, not important. What’s important is Nebula no longer looks like she wants to stab Amy just for existing. That’s a big improvement.

“Probably for the best,” Amy says with a smile, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation for them to be having. “I’m not sure the Doctor really does that kind of thing. Also, he might be married.”

“Might be?” A flicker of disdain returns. “You trust him blindly, and he has not even told you if he’s married?”

“It’s complicated. I don’t think he even knows if he is or not.” When Nebula still looks skeptical, Amy adds, “Besides, I _don’t_ trust him blindly, you just made assumptions. Our first trip together, _I_ saved a star whale when he was going to kill it.”

That seems to catch Nebula’s interest. She glances from Amy to the pool, and then back again before taking a seat at the edge, dropping her feet into the water. Is that an invitation? It feels like one, so Amy joins her, sinking to the ground close enough that she can feel the body heat coming off her. She’s warmer than a normal person. They sit in silence until Amy launches into the story of the star whale.

Nebula is quiet throughout, but when the story ends she gives Amy a nod and a small smile before slipping into the water and resuming her laps.

***

After that, things are different. Not as different as Amy hoped, but different. Nebula still seems to prefer the Doctor, still rolls her eyes at Amy’s excitement when they encounter a new alien race or a favorite historical figure. Certainly finds a lot to criticize about her approach whenever they run into trouble. 

But she talks to Amy now. Even tells her “good job” when she knocks out a guard while they’re rescuing the crown prince of a planet called Albezar.

“I knew you’d get along eventually,” the Doctor whispers to her with a wink.

“Oh, shut up,” she snaps back, but she can’t hide her blush.

***

Later, once the rescuing is over, Amy finds the Doctor alone in the control room, swinging beneath the TARDIS floor, working on the repairs that never seem to end. “Nebula has been with us for weeks,” she announces.

“The three suns of Albezar are green,” he replies. She raises her eyebrow. “Oh, are we not just stating facts?”

She rolls her eyes, crossing the room to give him an annoyed shove. He’s never as stupid as he sometimes pretends to be. “She’s had her run of the TARDIS and no sign of evil plans. Don’t you think it’s time we let her go home?”

“Oh, that.” The Doctor laughs. “I offered to take her home a week ago. She wanted to stay for a little longer.”

“Really?” She’d made it seem like she had pressing business, couldn’t wait to go back to her time. “Why?”

The Doctor shrugs. “She claimed she wanted to think about her next move. I suspect she’s just lonely.” He tilts his head. “Kind of like someone else I know.”

“For the last time, I am _not_ lonely. I have you.”

The Doctor spins in his swing, turning back to his work. “I told you. Only having me makes a person go kooky. I won’t let it happen to you, Amelia Pond.”

Amy sticks out her tongue at the back of his head—he can’t see it, but he knows anyway, she’s sure of it—but can’t help feeling just a tiny bit pleased that Nebula might actually want to be here.

***

A few days later, she finds herself sitting side-by-side with Nebula on a beach that stretches past the horizon in both directions. The sand glitters purple and tan, the water moves in black waves crashing into blue foam. The birds circling overhead are large and green, but they sound like seagulls and the air smells like salt. And everywhere, people. All sorts of shapes and sizes—reptilian scales and soft down feathers, little scampering creatures and big lumbering oafs—but clearly tourists, jabbering and noisy, shoving to get their spot on the sand, with large blankets and colorful umbrellas, some dragging deck chairs and others coming with contraptions that grow from nothing into lounge sofas in an instant.

Amy sips a cocktail that’s called something unpronounceable but tastes, essentially, like piña colada. It even has a little umbrella in it, though she couldn’t possibly name it’s color. She adjusts the edge of her wide-brimmed hat to keep the double suns out of her eyes.

“The Doctor did _not_ lie,” she tells Nebula, who’s glaring at the surrounding hubbub as if the energy offends her. “It really is space Florida.”

“I do not know Florida,” Nebula replies, matter-of-factly. “So I cannot compare.”  

“Oh, you’d hate it,” Amy assures her cheerfully. She’s testing the theory that the best way to deal with their dour travel companion is to just lean into the whole grumpy vibe. Nebula certainly seems to like it better when Amy isn’t trying to convince her that “perfectly normal planets” are worth getting excited about, and it makes the rare genuine smile she manages to pull out of her that much sweeter. “It’s exactly like this, except with more humans.”

“I don’t understand the appeal.”

“Sunshine, warm water, alcohol.” Amy waves the concoction in her hand in Nebula’s direction. Nebula plucks the decorative umbrella out of the drink and looks at it.

“You can have alcohol with less people,” she observes. “And less…umbrellas.”

“True,” Amy concedes with a shrug. “I’ve seen this attitude before. Last time I was in Florida—” She stops. She was about to say that last time she was in Florida, the person she was with hated it, too. But that’s not right. She’s only been to Florida—Earth Florida—once, with her aunt. Summer holiday, and they’d both loved every second of it. It’s one of her most cherished childhood memories, a rare escape from the thudding repetitiveness of Leadworth. What was she thinking? “Anyway, I didn’t expect you to like this. It’s a me thing.”

Nebula doesn’t reply, but when Amy glances back over, she’s observing her with a quiet intensity that’s disarming. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“If you ever wish to speak about the person you’ve lost, I will listen,” Nebula tells her, which is such a confusing sentence Amy wonders if she missed something.

“I haven’t lost anyone.”

Nebula tilts her head sharply, frown deepening. “You do not have to tell me,” she says, quiet. “But I understand better than you may think. I lost my sister. Twice.”

Amy wipes a few tears from her eyes. Not the unexpected crying again. She’s starting to wonder if she has allergies to alien atmospheres. “You really need to work on your vacation conversation. Most people try to keep it a bit more upbeat.”

Nebula considers this carefully. She settles back into her chair. “Have I told you about the time I baited a god and an idiot into wrestling for command of our ship?”

“ _No_ , but that sounds much better. What kind of god? Was he hot?”

As Nebula launches into her story—which is quite funny, if a bit lacking in dramatic delivery—Amy makes a mental note to try to find out more about this lost sister situation. It sounds like the kind of thing the Doctor might be able to help with.

***

Getting Nebula to tell them about Gamora is difficult. She barely says anything about the version that was lost for good, a sacrifice that makes the Doctor drop his eyes, ashamed in the way he always looks whenever Thanos comes up. The other one, though, the one rescued from the past, hidden in the present—Nebula’s present—that one she eventually opens up about, after several rounds of beer in a dark bar in a hidden corner of a small, dank city, the opposite of Space Florida.

She explains how her sister broke away from their father’s grip in a time of crisis, helped save the universe, then ran off. She recounts the story dully, a series of facts laid out as if they don’t matter, but Amy thinks she knows her well enough by now to pick up the hurt under her forced-neutral tone. “She doesn’t want to be found. But I wish to speak to her, at least one more time.”

“And you should get to,” the Doctor says. He reaches for her hand, but she pulls it out of reach. “We can help you.”

Nebula catches Amy’s eye, and Amy nods encouragingly. “Of course we will. It’s what we do, you should know that by now.”

***

Finding Gamora is even harder than getting Nebula to talk about her. She’s hidden herself well; they’re stuck following rumors of a deadly green assassin who hires herself out to find missing girls and take down cruel men. Nebula smiles when she hears the stories.

“That’s my sister,” she says proudly, knife to the throat of an arms dealer who she’s recently persuaded to share the details of an attack on one of his rivals.

“She sounds a little…murder-y,” the Doctor points out as Nebula throws the man to the side and beckons them out of the cramped backroom where he sells his wares, shooting his guards a look that dares them to mess with her. They don’t take her up on it.

“She only kills those who deserve it,” Nebula growls, looking offended.

“I think I’d like her,” Amy assures her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch away.

“Thank you,” Nebula replies, and she actually looks grateful. She drops her voice, adding conspiratorially, “ _Men_. They never understand.”

“Right?” Amy agrees, and they share a smile. “This is why we girls have to stick together.”

***

They track Gamora down to a small planet, hidden in an asteroid field. She’s staying at a monastery, suspended in the clouds, cut off from most technology. She no longer goes by Gamora, at least not here, but Nebula is sure it’s her.

“Well,” she says simply, looking at the screen. “This is it.”

If she’s sad to be leaving, she doesn’t show it.

***

That evening, Amy finds Nebula bent over a large rucksack on her bed, packing. She hadn’t come with anything of her own, of course, but she’s picked up weapons along the way, which the Doctor barely tolerated while she was traveling with them, and told her in no uncertain terms are leaving the TARDIS with her. He’s also given her the pick of the wardrobe, the stores, the technology—everything she could need.

“You know,” Amy says, leaning against the doorframe, attempting to seem casual, “this doesn’t have to be it. You could have your chat, then hop back on board. We could hang at the monastery. That might be…interesting.”

Nebula snorts, turning to face her. “You would not find it interesting.”

“No, probably not.” She steps into the room, cautiously. It’s the first time she’s been in Nebula’s private space. The Doctor never quite explains how the TARDIS works, but she’s pretty sure bedrooms spring up custom-made for the person staying in them. Nebula’s is the opposite of welcoming: bare grey walls, small bed with a metal frame and thin blanket, utilitarian chest of drawers. It doesn’t seem very comfortable, but somehow, that’s not a surprise. “I’d be willing to be a little bored to keep you around. We could even upgrade this room.”

“What’s wrong with my room?”

Amy gestures at it. At how little there is to gesture at. “It’s lacking in…hominess.”

“But this is not my home.”

It hurts to hear that. It hasn’t been that long, really, but for Amy, the TARDIS had felt like home within days; hours, even. She kind of thought everyone would feel that way. “Oh.”

Nebula approaches her, slowly, matching Amy’s own cautious steps. Then, to her shock, she raises her metal hand and places it on her cheek. The touch is surprisingly delicate, fingers cold but not unpleasant as they skim her skin. “It’s not your fault.”

Amy’s heart skips a beat as those eyes bore into her. They don’t look wrong anymore; it’s hard to remember how they ever did. They aren’t like doll’s eyes at all. Black, yes, but full of depth. This close, she can see her own startled expression reflected back in them.

“Oh,” she repeats. Get it together, Pond. “I thought you liked it here.”

“I belong with Gamora,” Nebula explains, not dropping her hand. This is the longest they’ve ever touched. “I’ll join her work, if she will have me.”

“And if not?” Amy swallows, hoping she doesn’t look too hopeful. Nebula shrugs dismissively, and Amy realizes she has no intention of letting her sister turn her down. This was never about talking to her just one last time. “Well, good luck then, I suppose. What else is there to say?”

Instead of replying, Nebula moves her hand to Amy’s hair, tracing through it. She curls a strand around her finger, observing it closely. “Even before my father, I never had hair like this,” she says. The non sequitur makes Amy freeze as she tries to process the jump in the conversation, the sudden, unexpected intimacy. As she struggles for words, Nebula leans in, brushing their lips together. Then it’s more than a brush, firmly pressing, parting.

Amy returns the kiss, and it’s the easiest thing in the world: they move as if they know each other completely. It’s like feeling her own loneliness, her own need.

And then it’s over. Nebula pulls back, lips curving into one of her rare, full smiles. “It was never the Doctor I was flirting with.”

Amy laughs incredulously, mind racing to put what just happened together with anything that came before it. “You _cannot_ pretend you were flirting with me at the start. You were just mean.”

“Maybe I was mean because I wanted you,” Nebula suggests.

“What, are you five? Pulling pigtails? I call rubbish.”

Nebula shrugs, conceding the point, then kisses her again, hands tangling into her hair, pulling her close. It’s fierce with desire, burning hot and promising more, and then again, it’s over too soon. This time Nebula takes several steps back, putting space between them.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to stay?” Amy asks. She glances at the bed. “At least for the night?”

“That wouldn’t be wise.” Nebula looks regretful as she says it, leans forward as if she might change her mind. She does want this, Amy’s sure of that, recognizes it. “I do not think either of us are who the other is looking for.”

“That’s not true!” Yes, it’s not something Amy had known she desired until this very moment, but now that the moment is here, her body aches for it. “It’s really not.”

But Nebula shakes her head. “I must go.”

Amy buries her disappointment in a nod. She had forgotten how good it feels to be touched. It had been—a long time. Forever, almost, other than that one rejected kiss from the Doctor. She blinks back confusion as she realizes her body is summoning up sense memories that she can’t place. More weirdness. She needs to get over that.

She closes the space between them again, this time to wrap Nebula in a tight hug. The body in her arms—her body, but not, foreign but familiar, a body she could have learned in other ways, in another world—tenses and then relaxes into the embrace, hands curling around her back.

“I hope everything works out for you,” Amy whispers. “Your sister would be an idiot not to have you.”

“And I hope you find what you’re missing,” Nebula tells her in return. “Whoever that is.”

***

“Do you think Gamora will agree to let her stay?” Amy asks, as the TARDIS leaves the floating monastery behind.

The Doctor smiles, looking at his all-knowing screen. “Two sisters, deadly as they are beautiful, raining vengeance on those who wrong the undefended. Either she stays, or this galaxy has a very coincidental legend.”

Amy comes up behind him to see for herself. Yeah, she decides, reading the report. That’s definitely them. “Good for her.” She shakes herself, trying to dislodge the longing that flares across her heart. Longing not for Nebula, exactly. Or at least, not entirely. Longing for what she found, maybe.

The Doctor is looking at her with those sad eyes again, so she nudges him. “Where to next?”

“I was thinking a quick stop back at Earth. Your time, just to check in. What could go wrong?”

Amy looks at the screen again, and then turns it off. Nebula has her place, and she will, too. Eventually.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re-dated because it was originally anonymous for an exchange. Sorry if you've seen it before!
> 
> As always, feedback is loved. Kudos are amazing, and every comment makes my day :D


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